


Imagine this

by wouldnt_thatbenifty



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Feels, M/M, Stargazing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:55:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28282044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wouldnt_thatbenifty/pseuds/wouldnt_thatbenifty
Summary: Logan has a gay panic.Virgil helps him out.The stars third wheel.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Logic | Logan Sanders
Kudos: 19





	Imagine this

**Author's Note:**

> aaaaaaa I'm actually proud of this so let me know what you think.

It had been a particularly boring day, in a way that made Virgil restless. What does anxiety have to do on a day like this? Everyone else had their jobs; everyone else was busy and actually had important things to do. Roman for example was giving Thomas daydreams, for some inspiration, he claimed.

Virgil tended to stay away from Roman while he was doing this, as far too many times he has made it worse by sending Thomas into a spiral of overthinking. How could you daydream negatively?  
He supposed Patton was in the memory center, reminiscing and getting distracted. And anxiety and the past do not mix well. He's learned that from the moving on videos. Logan did say he was busy in his room, probably looking at diagrams and charts only he could understand.

But it's so dark in his room. It’s so dark that when he reaches his hand above his face, the air feels thick and he cannot see anything at all. But he can feel his breath, flowing in, and out, then catching on something. He holds his breath, clutching his hand shut tightly as if he could catch whatever was doing this to him, and teach it a lesson. Shaking his head, Virgil let his trembling hand drop to his chest and focused on breathing. Just breathe. 4,7,8. 4,7-Shit. 4... It's just breathing, you idiot.

His face screwed up in his concentration as he tried to block out the wind whistling through his window, the door banging with every gust of air. Every time he flinched, but he was glued to his breath, trapped in his mind, and the simple act of getting up and closing the door seemed so monumental and painfully hard.  
After 20 minutes of trying, his eyes pricked with tears in frustration at his own incompetency to just make his lungs work properly. It wasn't as if there was any reason for this performance. There was nothing, absolutely nothing to be anxious about. It just didn't make sense.

And that, above everything else, not his loneliness this week, not the blasted door, or the pitch black that suffocated him, was what he hated the most. It terrified him. The feeling of not knowing. Of not being prepared, or even, heck, knowing. But not caring. Being reckless, being stupid.  
And who would share a similar feeling? Who makes it his absolute goal to be the complete antithesis of these things?

Logan.  
Logan Logan Logan.

He let the name sound again and again in his mind, pictured his face, his eyes, his voice, his, everything. And sunk out.

He'd not quite managed it, and appeared abruptly on hard ground outside Logan's door, knees buckling. Surely, Logan wasn't still busy? His hand already on the doorknob answered that for him. He stopped, the stepped back, and knocked, three times, quick and firm. 

The hallway was way brighter than his room, and his trembling lessened, as he took one deep breath in, and waited...

Nothing.  
Was he asleep? Was he somewhere else?  
Oh  
What if Logan was in danger?

No. He clenched his jaw and shook the thought away. He was being stupid.  
Virgil knocked again, more sure, and calm. His chest seemed to be telling him, against all odds, that he should be hopeful.

He listened.  
It was quieter in the hallway; he could hear every minute sound, from his foot, tapping on the floorboards, to his beating heart, furiously smashing against his ribcage.

The door swung open.

And what he saw was not what he expected. Logan, known for his - almost obsessive -tidiness, stood at the door as if he'd seen a ghost. No, leaned on the door. Bags were clearly visible underneath wide, darting eyes, and he attempted to simultaneously fix his wild hair and tighten his tie.

'Logan?'

'Hello Virgil, I apologize for my state of being, I... seem to have, lost my um, project I was working on, and it’s due tommoro-'

He stopped, taking a breath and examining Virgil from head to toe, lingering on his shaking shoulders and fingertips, and his dark eye shadow.

'Are you...are you alright Virge?'

'No,' Virgil managed to gasp.

He knew now why, but now was not the time to dwindle. He took Logan by the hand and started to drag him with him, one destination set in his mind. Logan's door hung open.  
'  
But my project-' Logan protested, yet followed Virgil as he squeezed his hand tighter.

They passed Roman's room, and Virgil could hear karaoke distantly blaring out from his speakers, Roman passionately accompanying. Good. Up 1, 2, 3 flights of white stairs and they reached the door, panting. Logan was looking at him, incredulous,

'Wh-why the imagination?!'

'You'll see,'  
The door of the imagination, created by Roman, was inspired by howls moving castle. Roman would simply walk through the brick archway at the top of the stairs and transform the scene around him. The trouble with the stairs, I suppose, is that you could easily fall down them if you had an injury coming back. But they stayed anyway. Over time, frequently imagined places gained a place as a button, rather like a lift that would send you to your chosen world.

The first button was the classic world Roman used for his many adventures: a landscape with villages full of people, and expanses of glittering lakes, and dark forests, and of course, a fair share of castles with knights galore, and princes, and princesses in exquisite clothing. The other two weren't used as much but consisted of a button for a snowy climate, and a button for trips to the 'figurative' beach, as Logan would say.

None of these buttons satisfied Virgil, so he'd have to make his own one. How hard could it be? He held his breath and stepped through, the confused Logan holding his hand like a lifeline.

At first, it was pitch black, and silent apart from their breaths that rose in a mist before them. Virgil cursed under his breath and closed his eyes. A gasp from Logan made him open them.

They were standing in a large expanse of field, the grass flowing in a light, cool breeze. On top of the hill, a birch tree stood sturdy and reassuring, its browning leaves rustling quietly. Below them, everything was thrown into shadow.

Logan squeezed his hand and said, 'Look up.'  
Virgil did, and breathed in the view. The sky was a swirling, ink spillage, purples and blues mixing into one another, deep and luxurious, and so dark, but in a comforting way. And in his eyes were reflected billions and billions of shimmering stars that stared back at him in awe, and he felt like they were the only ones on the planet.

'It's beautiful,' he breathed.

Logan flashed him a rare smile, 'Much, but may we sit down? My neck is starting to hurt,'

'Course'

They made their way to the base of the tree, and lay down, hands touching slightly. Every so often, Virgil would tap Logan's hand, just to make sure he was there and this was real. And every time Logan would tap back, light and careful. Faintly, Virgil could hear the sound of what he thought were waves, far in the distance, creating a familiar, soothing pattern to breathe to. In and out, in and out. It was as easy as that, just crashes of waves, one after another. A steady constant. 

They lay there, and breathed together in the grass that tickled their skin, staring up at the huge display of galaxy after galaxy after galaxy. They lay there for quite some time, not saying anything, until Logan’s fingers curled in on themselves.

'How are you, Virgil?'

Virgil thought, then replied. 'A lot better,'

'But not quite?' Logan asked.

Virgil exhaled, 'Yeah.'

They fell into silence and waited for the other to speak. After a minute, Virgil rolled his eyes, 'I can feel your anxiety a mile off, Lo.'

Logan huffed and unfurled his fingers. 'This is not about me, it is about you. What was troubling you when you came to my door?'

'It's nothing Lo, honest. Most of that anxiety was yours.'

'Most of it...'

'I'm fine, Logan.' Virgil sounded tired. 'What's up with you?'

'I-' Logan started, but his voice trailed off. He looked at Virgil through the half-darkness. Tried to really look at him. The outline of his nose and his bangs brushed back out of his face to reveal the way his eyes shimmered like stars themselves, deep calming voids of purple illuminated by the light of the sky. The light fell on his lips too, formed in a half-smile, like he was keeping a secret no-one else knew. Logan longed to know. Virgil turned towards Logan, rolling onto his side,

'I don't quite know.' Logan swallowed.

Virgil’s lips twisted, 'Did you really lose that project you were talking about? I thought you'd finished it already.'

Logan could hear the concern in his voice, like the rumbling of thunder, warm and crackling, and his chest felt like someone had applied a hot poker there. He forced himself to look into those eyes, rolling to face Virgil.

'I finished it.'

Virgil's eyes crinkled into a smile. 'Knew it, nerd.' 

'Are you sure you're fine?' Logan shifted closer, glasses digging into the side of his head, but he ignored them.

Virgil looked down, fiddling with his sleeves, his hands trembling slightly. Logan took his hands and gently stroked his thumb across Virgil’s fingertips. They were soft and warm to the touch, with calluses on the tips from playing guitar. Virgil watched, face flushed, and for a moment it was just them, breathing together again, their shoes touching.

'I've just felt a bit... useless lately.' Logan’s brow furrowed. 'You all have your own stuff to be doing and I just make things worse.'

'I'm sorry we made you feel that way,' Logan replied, 'I can assure you that I-we appreciate you very much, and you definitely do not make things worse. Quite the opposite, in fact.'

Virgil’s mouth twisted upwards and he searched Logan's face. His freckles like constellations lightly dotting his nose - Logan had told Virgil his star sign was hidden in there somewhere. His shining eyes lit up every time he ranted about astronomy. And, although it was dark, he could imagine running his fingers through Logan’s so soft hair, which had two strands hanging down poking into his glasses. 

The urge to brush them away was ridiculous. 

‘I guess I’ve just felt, kinda, lonely.’ He shuffled closer, now so their noses were touching.

‘But you don’t now?’ Logan ventured, looking at Virgil as if he could read everything about him. And Virgil felt exposed, like they were looking at each other again after a long time. He felt see-through, in a good way, and every part of him was on show to see. But Logan just looked at him, with those eyes that seemed to understand everything, and waited. And Virgil looked back, and they saw each other in all their glory and all their failures. And Virgil guessed what Logan had actually been stressing about, and his chest ached.

‘Not now, no.’ the world had gone eerily silent. He swallowed, ‘Just scared.’

Logan’s face was so close, he could see every freckle.  
Carefully, Virgil lifted his hand up, and slid his glasses off, fingers brushing his cheek.

‘Of what’ Logan whispered, voice flowing like the tide at the shore, waiting for the moon to guide its move.  
His lips were parted slightly.

Virgil leaned forward.

**Author's Note:**

> Top tip: don't kiss with glasses on.  
> Kudos are appreciated!


End file.
